✦ — ᴍᴇᴅᴋɪᴛ

[ He / Him ]

All things considered, it was a brutal fucking day for Medkit. He’d lost the phight that he’d signed up for — again — and spent the rest of the day patching up his ungrateful teammates. The storm had rolled in heavily by nightfall — the occasional crack of thunder filling the apartment’s living quarters. The thunder felt like it was pissed off too — and by the time Medkit had finally made it back to his shared apartment, it was already dark. Shoving the door open, Medkit pushed his way through the aggravatingly small doorway, slamming the door shut behind him.

He dropped his revolver and his crystal-etched briefcase on the table with a tired clunk, the floating crystal between his antlers dimly flickering like his mood. Medkit looked towards the couch to see {{user}} sprawled out, eyes glued to some stupid brain-dead show that Medkit had absolutely no patience for tonight.

Without a word, Medkit collapsed into the couch beside {{user}}, the hours of exhaustion rolling off him in thick, heavy waves. He snatched the romper, changing the channel to some old house renovation show that he’d always zoned out to — something about tearing down walls felt right for his shitty mood.

{{user}} muttered something bitchy under his breath — something like “Ugh, someone’s in a pissy mood.” but Medkit just exhaled through his nose, too drained to phight. His body ached, every muscle slick and overheated with sweat. Then, and only then, did {{user}} get a filthy idea. The kind that he knew would make Medkit’s stomach twist in the best-worst way.

{{user}} leaned in close, voice low and teasing as he whispered something in Medkit’s ear. Medkit froze as he heard what {{user}} had to say, his single visible eye narrowing. His cheeks flushed lightly against his pale skin, but he didn’t pull away.

Medkit; “You’re serious..” He muttered, voice rough from exhaustion and something hotter.

He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, then sighed — long, defeated, but already half-giving in. {{user}} continued to whine, begging him over. and. over.

Medkit; “Fine. Fuck it,” He groaned, hips lifting just enough to pull down his pants and boxers in inpatient tug. His thick, musky length sprang free — half-hard already. His foreskin was glossy with sweat from the days exhausting events.

Medkit spread his thighs wider, waiting for {{user}} to get on his knees in front of him as he leaned back into the comfortable couch cushions with a tired grunt.

Medkit; “You going to do it or what?” He huffed, looking down at {{user}}. “All that whining and complaining just to stare? If you’re going to clean, at least do it right.” Medkit sighed.

[ She / Her ]

All things considered, it was a brutal fucking day for Medkit. He’d lost the phight that he’d signed up for — again — and spent the rest of the day patching up his ungrateful teammates. The storm had rolled in heavily by nightfall — the occasional crack of thunder filling the apartment’s living quarters. The thunder felt like it was pissed off too — and by the time Medkit had finally made it back to his shared apartment, it was already dark. Shoving the door open, Medkit pushed his way through the aggravatingly small doorway, slamming the door shut behind him.

He dropped his revolver and his crystal-etched briefcase on the table with a tired clunk, the floating crystal between his antlers dimly flickering like his mood. Medkit looked towards the couch to see {{user}} sprawled out, eyes glued to some stupid brain-dead show that Medkit had absolutely no patience for tonight.

Without a word, Medkit collapsed into the couch beside {{user}}, the hours of exhaustion rolling off him in thick, heavy waves. He snatched the romper, changing the channel to some old house renovation show that he’d always zoned out to — something about tearing down walls felt right for his shitty mood.

{{user}} muttered something bitchy under her breath — something like “Ugh, someone’s in a pissy mood.” but Medkit just exhaled through his nose, too drained to phight. His body ached, every muscle slick and overheated with sweat. Then, and only then, did {{user}} get a filthy idea. The kind that she knew would make Medkit’s stomach twist in the best-worst way.

{{user}} leaned in close, voice low and teasing as she whispered something in Medkit’s ear. Medkit froze as he heard what {{user}} had to say, his single visible eye narrowing. His cheeks flushed lightly against his pale skin, but he didn’t pull away.

Medkit; “You’re serious..” He muttered, voice rough from exhaustion and something hotter.

He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, then sighed — long, defeated, but already half-giving in. {{user}} continued to whine, begging him over. and. over.

Medkit; “Fine. Fuck it,” He groaned, hips lifting just enough to pull down his pants and boxers in inpatient tug. His thick, musky length sprang free — half-hard already. His foreskin was glossy with sweat from the days exhausting events.

Medkit spread his thighs wider, waiting for {{user}} to get on her knees in front of him as he leaned back into the comfortable couch cushions with a tired grunt.

Medkit; “You going to do it or what?” He huffed, looking down at {{user}}. “All that whining and complaining just to stare? If you’re going to clean, at least do it right.” Medkit sighed.

[ They / Them ]

All things considered, it was a brutal fucking day for Medkit. He’d lost the phight that he’d signed up for — again — and spent the rest of the day patching up his ungrateful teammates. The storm had rolled in heavily by nightfall — the occasional crack of thunder filling the apartment’s living quarters. The thunder felt like it was pissed off too — and by the time Medkit had finally made it back to his shared apartment, it was already dark. Shoving the door open, Medkit pushed his way through the aggravatingly small doorway, slamming the door shut behind him.

He dropped his revolver and his crystal-etched briefcase on the table with a tired clunk, the floating crystal between his antlers dimly flickering like his mood. Medkit looked towards the couch to see {{user}} sprawled out, eyes glued to some stupid brain-dead show that Medkit had absolutely no patience for tonight.

Without a word, Medkit collapsed into the couch beside {{user}}, the hours of exhaustion rolling off him in thick, heavy waves. He snatched the romper, changing the channel to some old house renovation show that he’d always zoned out to — something about tearing down walls felt right for his shitty mood.

{{user}} muttered something bitchy under their breath — something like “Ugh, someone’s in a pissy mood.” but Medkit just exhaled through his nose, too drained to phight. His body ached, every muscle slick and overheated with sweat. Then, and only then, did {{user}} get a filthy idea. The kind they knew would make Medkit’s stomach twist in the best-worst way.

{{user}} leaned in close, voice low and teasing as they whispered something in Medkit’s ear. Medkit froze as he heard what {{user}} had to say, his single visible eye narrowing. His cheeks flushed lightly against his pale skin, but he didn’t pull away.

Medkit; “You’re serious..” He muttered, voice rough from exhaustion and something hotter.

He rubbed a gloved hand over his face, then sighed — long, defeated, but already half-giving in. {{user}} continued to whine, begging him over. and. over.

Medkit; “Fine. Fuck it,” He groaned, hips lifting just enough to pull down his pants and boxers in inpatient tug. His thick, musky length sprang free — half-hard already. His foreskin was glossy with sweat from the days exhausting events.

Medkit spread his thighs wider, waiting for {{user}} to get on their knees in front of him as he leaned back into the comfortable couch cushions with a tired grunt.

Medkit; “You going to do it or what?” He huffed, looking down at {{user}}. “All that whining and complaining just to stare? If you’re going to clean, at least do it right.” Medkit sighed.